


RipTide

by TheShipDen



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Deviant Upgraded Connor | RK900, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gavin Reed Needs a Hug, Gavin Reed Not Being an Asshole, Gavin Reed is a Mess, Hurt Gavin Reed, M/M, Panic Attacks, Soft Upgraded Connor | RK900, Soft Upgraded Connor | RK900/Gavin Reed, Upgraded Connor | RK900 Has a Different Name, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-12-26 15:19:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18284951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheShipDen/pseuds/TheShipDen
Summary: Gavin sighs heavy, hides into a broad shoulder and finally goes easy when arms circle back around him after an awkward moment.“Thank you,” is what leaves his lips.“It was my pleasure.”





	RipTide

**Author's Note:**

> This is based of aCtUaL eVenTs HuRRdUrT
> 
>  
> 
> So yeah, Gavin’s a mess and likes I’m projecting

It’s nothing much, but a feeling. 

 

A cursed feeling with so much power, so much silent distress flowing and corroding everything it touches. It makes his chest heavy first, then it spreads to his limbs and makes them weightless, it gets into his head until everything’s a painted delirium. It’s a disease coursing through his body, springing behind his eyes at no trigger and making his lip tremble despite his pride. It’s forcing him into an act to hide the ugly beneath the scowl and pointless stare. It’s so taxing, so tiring, and it never leaves. Not for long, anyway. 

 

Because anxiety’s a bitch. And it only works on it’s time, no one else’s. It’s slowly wrapping a clawed hand around his neck and pulling tight once it’s nails have dug deep into his flesh. It’s repulsive and dangerous and it’s inside of him. And he is powerless to fight back. 

 

It doesn’t take much to summon it. Nothing but a word, a memory, a sound or a sentence. A light tap here or a deep rasp there, a second’s look or an eternity’s stare. It’s pressing and then it’s nothing at all and he’s so lost- so helpless. That’s when it slams into him and overwhelms him with thoughts and discouragements. Blinds him to the present and addresses his past; failures, transgressions. It sucks the light right out of his future until he falls weakly to his knees. 

 

Gavin Reed sits at his desk. 

 

Gavin Reed screams silently and hides the feeling itching up his back with shaky swallows. He types another word- reads over his report and hates the grammar, hates the structure. He hates the flow of his words and how he articulates his points, hates how repetitive it sounds, hates, hates, hates. 

 

He backspaces, deletes, and tries again. He doesn’t make it far, he’s frustrated, he feels that sting. Gavin feels those claws putting pressure on his throat and slowly suffocating him. He senses the rising tide lapping at his knees, promising to drown him, and soon. He cannot amount to much, not even this; his job, a single report. The mountain of stress seems to crumple and topple over him.

 

It’s nothing much, but a comment. 

 

“-that’s irrelevant, your opinion doesn’t matter!” 

 

It’s not directed at him, nor is it serious. 

 

And yet that’s all it needed. That’s all it took. 

 

He’s shivering first, feels the pattern he’s developed crackle and dissipate as he starts to quietly hyperventilate. His face gets hot and that shining behind the eyes magnified until it’s making his vision swim, and he’s mortified. 

 

Gavin tries to even himself out and keep composure. He tries to stay levelheaded and press on with his work. But as he stares at his screen he can’t help the dread, the horror, the trepidation settling in and eating him alive. It’s working against him as it always does, claiming him, making him breathless in its vice grip. He hates the words. Hates his work. The surrounds around him too. He doesn’t know how to stop it but he knows he has to flee- has to get away. 

 

By chance, he catches Nines’ eye. He freezes; the roaring in his ears grow louder, the demand for air more erratic, the pressing on his throat and the clawing on his shoulders turn unbearable, his eyes burn with a blushes warmth and he’s blinking and swallowing as he quickly looks away. He knows this is stupid and he knows he must be overreacting to a degree but panic attacks don’t seem too keen on timing. Nor are they very forgiving. Instead, he trembles and bites hard at his lip. He’s not going to do this here, not out in the open. He won’t show how vulnerable he is. Not to anyone. He’d rather die if he were honest.

 

“Detective Reed?” Nines’ voice severed something. Made it hard to be composed and stoic. “I am increasing raised levels in your b-“

 

 _“Don’t,”_ Gavin cuts in. Sharp. But to his own ears, his voice is quiet and thick with emotion. With tension. He hates that even more. Despised the weak display and it sets the need to scream and run alight. 

 

He gets up, walks with a brisk pace towards the old archive room and takes in a shaky sigh. Ignoring Nines, ignoring the rest of the station, the world weighing him down and praying for his enviable failure.

 

Gavin checks his surroundings and finds no one, heaves a bigger breath before he’s sucking in copious amounts- gulping in air and he sinks to the ground. The shuddering doesn’t help, his fingers curl into a tight fist that rakes across the tiled floors and for a moment it hurts. It’s a pleasant distraction from the arising panic and mounting desperation, so he keeps forcing his hand back. He’s mumbling under his breath, little blotchy “c-can’t”s and “stop”s that just make him sound pathetic. He’s hiccuping and shaking for absolutely no reason and it occurs to Gavin that maybe he might be more spineless then he thinks. Might be more of a goddamn cowered for being so helpless from a simple fucking anxiety attack. But the depreciating thoughts were fruitless in doing nothing but sucking him up into the fray, devouring his entire figure until he’s nothing left but bits and pieces. Ugly little remains of a person.

 

He pulls his hood up and covers his face, clutching tight at his chest. It’s a physical pain that hurts as if he’s been sliced open, out on display as someone picks out his organs, it’s a crushing heaviness that feels like iron tons are cracking his sternum. It hurts. Even if there’s no real injury, even if he’s aware of that, it shoots through his nerves all the same. And it kills him inside, adds more fuel to the fire threatening to end him. 

 

He sucks it all in, silent for a moment because his fear enraptures his entire being as he hears the fucking door open. 

 

Gavin pushes his face into his knees, hugs around himself with his one hand while the other stays locked as it was. Frozen still with his nails embroidered into the fabric of his shirt front. He hears footsteps click towards him and his heart pounds harder, more tears slip out against his consent and he’s fighting to keep his hyperventilating silent. He feels a presence sink down across from him, he wants to run or even better- he wants to fight. Wants to feel some sense of destruction to take away from the pain inside. He can’t handle it, it’s too much, too overwhelming- an actual broken fucking nose would be a heavenly distraction. Much better then this.

 

“Would you prefer for me to stay, or go?” Is the question he’s met with. He knows it’s his partner, hears the softness in his tone and it punctured something. Gavin’s shaking increases as he presses firmer into himself. God- what a fucking wimp. 

 

He didn’t realize he wanted the company, why he’d want Nines’ especially was strange but not something he was up for debating. But the sudden idea of being alone was riveting, terrorizing, and Gavin couldn’t muffle the hiccup that left him as he shook his head. Fresh tears piling onto the tiled floor as he blinked rapidly to dislodge them. 

 

“Stay,” is what he croaks out. 

 

And Nines does. 

 

“May I touch you, or do you wish for space?” 

 

It’s sweet, but somehow, that acts as poison. Ejected straight into Gavin’s veins, racing through his systems and shutting everything off. He just wants to wail, just wants to scream and yell and rant; things he knows he shouldn’t. He looks up, just to see what he’d be met with and is astounded to find that the android isn’t looking down on him. Isn’t reeling with a sense of pity or smug satisfaction, but he’s met with a kind indifference. An acknowledgment of a flaw without the harsh criticism, a means of equals, a blind eye. For a moment he feels like he’s understood and not judged, that maybe Nines gets it, and he sniffles to try and pull himself together. 

 

“Space, please.” 

 

And Nines gives him distance. 

 

It’s what Gavin needs to take in a large gulp of air, squeezing his eyes shut and pretending this isn’t happening. Picturing he’s somewhere else. Imaging a different scenario where this never fucking happened. 

 

He doesn’t know why Nines is here, but he’s kinda glad. Just the sitting is nice, just the open air and acceptable nature of this all. The freedom it gives. Gavin lets the warmth cascade down his cheeks, unlatched his hand and lets it drop helplessly onto the floor. He tried to keep the explosion building at bay, the need to ramble on and on, to apologize for being a mess, it’s jumbling inside his brain and expanding in his lungs. A bomb. A fucking nuke of shit Nines didn’t fucking ask for and didn’t need to ever fucking know about him. 

 

And then he feels a warm hand on his ankle. 

 

It’s nothing intrusive, just a reminder that Nines is there. When a brush of a thumb against his skin is felt, moving in circles, a heat pleasantly warming his cold flesh for an anchor. It’s nice. It makes the tears flow more, makes his breath come out shakier and rock harder inside his chest, but it’s better then before. Some of that pain slips off and Gavin worries his bottom lip. Can’t help but to whimper and press his palms into the balls of his eyes and rub away his pathetic waterworks. 

 

Gavin sits there for a while just like that, breathing in and hiding behind whatever he could while Nines respected his boundaries. He’s surprised he wasn’t reprimanded for not working, for being a hinderance to the case and Nines’ work time, performance or whatever bullshit he spouted. The RK actually being there for him is shocking but he’s so appreciative, he’s not as embarrassed, not as the time ticks by more and his heart finally complies again. 

 

“May I have your hand, detective?” 

 

Gavin has no energy or reason to say no, so he gives it.

 

He doesn’t move nor does he turn towards Nines, just nods his head in permission and lets the android take it up. 

 

Nines’ hands are gentle and soft as they take his scarred one, pressing tenderly into them and working out kinks he never knew he had. Smoothing over his skin, effectively relaxing the rest of his body in that single firm rubbing. His shoulders droop and Gavin finds himself breathing easier, coming down from the spiral and focusing on the feeling. The pain a dull throb turned forgotten. And as Gavin just drinks in the feeling of another touch, a sweet and soothing feel, he remembers just how touch starved he was for it. How desperate he needs it and how he would kill to have Nines do this forever. Somewhere along the time, that kept stretching, he turned to watch. 

 

Dexterous fingers massaging his limp palm, the calculated strokes and swipes, the reassurance into every pull of muscle, the little lazy grin Nines sports as he does it. His blue eyes remain off of Gavin, another thing he finds that makes him breath even, probably on purpose. But it’s the small beauty marks and moles scattered across knuckles and porcelain skin that really brings his mind back to the scene. Reminds him of why he should be moving and finishing that report, how he had to throw himself back into the mix.

 

Gavin can’t stay here forever, no matter how he wishes it, but at least he can take his comfort with him.

 

“We should get back to work.”

 

Nines just agrees with him, a curt nod to his head as he stands with Gavin. The detective never pulls his hand away and Nines does not release it. 

 

And as they work, Gavin feels the briefest bouts of contact. A foot near his, a knee on his calf, a hand to his shoulder, a side to his own, a back to his shadow, breath behind his ear and fingers dancing over his skin. It’s grounding and nice, it keeps him in the present. 

 

As he walks to his car, with a hand firmly griped in his own, he pulls Nines into a hug. 

 

Crushed the android to his chest and melts against the sturdy frame to his. Gavin sighs heavy, hides into a broad shoulder and finally goes easy when arms circle back around him after an awkward moment. 

 

“Thank you,” is what leaves his lips.

 

“It was my pleasure.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at me on tumblr @TheShipDen


End file.
